


Is This What You Wanted?

by ElizabethDionne



Series: Something About War [1]
Category: Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2019-11-07 21:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17968298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethDionne/pseuds/ElizabethDionne
Summary: Implied poly relationship with the boys if you squint real hard.





	1. Long Nights and War Are Synonymous

“Heyyyyyyyy,” I drawl out at the site of the distraught looking men walking in the open front door of my apartment.

Equal looks of what must be horror are on all of their faces, probably at the site of me shitfaced. It’s not something any of them have seen. I think.

“What are you doing?!” Damian exclaims angrily, rushing over and ripping the styrofoam out of my hand, which, to be honest, was going to spill soon from just how liquidy my muscles have become. “Are you fucking stupid?! Why would you drink this?”

I hiccup, feeling my eyes water and the fuzz in my brain calm slightly. A little bit of the water starts to collect on my lower lid, threatening to spill out, and the look on Damian’s face softens slightly- but only slightly. He’s still pissed. I don’t know why though.

“Hey, don’t do that. Not in here,” I was starting to vomit in my mouth. “I’m gonna get a bucket.” Tim ran off to find a bucket for me to lean over, seeing as I probably would not make it to my bathroom.

“Here, drink this. You’ll regret it later if you don’t.” Jason pushes a glass of water in my hand and holds it steady while I drink the entire glass, thirsty beyond belief. Dick still looks kind of horrified and leaves the apartment as Tim comes back with a bucket.

“Sit it between your legs and put your hair up. Just in case.” His clothes are rumpled, like he slept in them, but it’s probably exactly what he did, fallen asleep working on something for Bruce or the Titans or just a lead here in Gotham. He’s always working. He just needs to relax for once and go with the flow.

“Gunner, why?” Jason asks gently, sitting next to me on the couch and rubbing my back as I vomit into the bucket, everything I drank in the past twenty minutes leaving my stomach in favor of the bucket. But I don’t blame it, I wouldn’t like to be in my stomach either.

“I wanted to forget. And everyone at the club said it would feel good so I tried it there, and they were right. It did feel good. There’s nothing wrong right now, I feel great. So I asked how to make it and they showed me how then gave me stuff to make it. Twenty minutes ago. Don’t worry, I got a cab home.” I say absentmindedly, eagerly accepting the glass of water that Damian hands to me, wondering briefly what he did with the cup from earlier. Eh, I don’t really care.

“How much did you have?” Tim goes into a doctoring mode, lifting my head to do the pupil thing and I follow his finger, doing pretty good (in my opinion). But the frown on his face says otherwise.

“What’s with the long face? Be happy for once. You’re always so uptight. Just relax.” I’m still high from the three glasses I’d ingested.

“Your pupils aren’t responding to the tests. At all.” He says and Damian goes a little pale while Jason gets rigid.

“We’re taking you to a hospital. Now. Grab your bucket, we’ll dump it out in the toilet so you don’t stink up the car too bad.” Jason stood and grabbed my arm and pulled me up quickly but gently. My legs immediately collapse under me and I clutch onto Jason and Damian grabs me by the waist before I can even fall a few inches.

“I’ll carry her out there. Just go dump out the bucket.” Jason looks ready to argue but Tim places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and the anger leaves his body (mostly) and he nods, hurrying to the bathroom and back in a few seconds.

“Hey, guys, what’s-” Dick starts as we exit the the apartment and Tim locks the door, carrying a bag with everything I got from the nightclub.

“Hospital.” Damian grunts, going as quick as he can down the hallway without jostling me in his arms, my right one wrapped around his shoulders and the other sitting limply on my gut. My head lolls around and I give a lopsided smile at Dick.

“They’re trying break what’s been fixed.” A little slur at the end of my words, I feel some of the fuzziness wearing off a little, but I feel my eyes drooping and everything gets blurry. It vaguely dawns on me that I can’t remember my parents names.

Dick somehow gets even paler and he catches up to Dami and gently pulls me from his arms, cradling me to him and I press my face to his shoulder, breathing in his cologne and something distinctly Dick Grayson.

“I’ve got her. Go get the car pulled around while I take her down there. Jason, go with him.” Neither of them argue with Dick, his voice full of the same authoritarian tone as when he’s giving orders on a mission.

Dick breaks into a steady, but quick paced jog with me pushed tightly against him, not even feeling the steps with how tight he’s hugging me. Tim keeps up easily and even surpasses him to hold open the stairwell door, neither wanting to take a slow elevator.

We make it to the ground floor fairly quickly, the cozy muted blues and greens, meant to be peaceful and welcoming now seem garish and blur into everything when I look over Dicks shoulder to smile at the man sticking mail into the boxes. He looks back indifferently, seen things like this before and worse. Probably not as bad as I have, and oh, would you look at that, the memories are coming back.

Smoke and ash rain down on the blackened grass, and the flames roar behind me as I stumble away from the wreckage of the jet. Fires everywhere, buildings, trees, random bonfires in the grass that spread to other bonfires and create huge walls of fire, fueled by the leaking fuel in the cars and the wreckage of jets that were shot down above the city. Voices shout from somewhere in the distance and a brief surge of panic shoots through my body and down my spine.

I stumble faster, trying and failing to ignore the smell of burning flesh in my gas mask and the blood dripping down various body parts, my friend and partner in the cockpit of the jet behind me, dying or dead, telling me to leave him behind, swallowing the cyanide pill in the pocket of his uniform before forcing me away one last time.

The voices grow closer and I start running (actually it was more like hobbling, but eh, close enough) as fast as I can on my leg, a piece of shrapnel sticking out of my right calf. Dodging debris in the street I run into a building that’s missing the door, taking the stairs as far up as I can, pushing a couch next to a window and pushing it upside down against the wall so it stands up, before leaving the room, creating a false trail to the room by pushing things over, just in case someone saw me enter the building.

I go into another apartment, closing the door and pushing stuff to it, wrapping a belt from a bedroom around the door handle and the handle of what’s probably a closet to prevent people from getting in. It probably won’t work.

I go to a window and settle down next to it, watching outside anxiously for the people I heard earlier. No one comes. And I’m alone. I anxiously rip off the gas mask and breath in the air, choking a little on the smoke permeating even inside the building.

Using a blanket I found in a bedroom I curl up in the corner, knowing that sleep is literally asking for death but knowing full well that I need to sleep to be alert tomorrow. And with the pain of my wounds fading into the background, I drift off into a dreamless sleep, the sound of rumbling in the background.

 

 

“Gunner, hey, c’mon, don’t do this. Wake up, please.” Someone’s shaking me and my eyes snap open, my body on autopilot pushing them away roughly and trying to move away, strapped in place. Panic engulfs me and start struggling still reliving the nightmares that plague me at night.

“You’re alright-hey-hey-you’re fine-no-don’t-Gunner-” Dick holds my hands with one of his and grabs me with his other, trapping my hands between us so I can’t hit him away.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” He repeats this mantra in my ear, petting my head in a soothing motion.

I slowly calm down enough that he can unbuckle me from the seat, the flashback fading now, and he pulls me out of the car, easily carrying me into the emergency room entrance.

“We need help now! Please! She drank a lot of lean, I don’t know how much but she can’t stand and her words are slurring,” He tells the nurse and she takes a look at us before making a call on the phone at the desk, none of it audible to me. Damian holds onto one of my hands tightly, pressing it to his cheek.

“I’m not dead yet,” I murmur, not understanding the big deal about the rush.

A group of nurses and a doctor come out from the section of the hospital with operating rooms, pushing a bed with them.

“If you’ll please set her on the bed, we’ll take her from here.” Dick puts me on the uncomfortable bed and kisses my forehead quickly, one last squeeze of my hand from Dami and scared looks from Tim and Jason are all I get before they’re leaving me alone. The smell of disinfectant invades my nose and the bright lights blur out everything in my vision as it fades to black.

 

I awake at the banging noise at the door, the sound of gunfire and then furniture moving. My heart leaps out of my chest and I look around for a weapon, finding nothing of use, and sprint into the closet at the corner where the entrance hall meets the living room. I’ll be able to take at least one down from sheer surprise before they shoot me. They won’t be able to say I didn’t go down fighting.

Four pairs of steps burst into the room quickly and the gunfire gets closer, they don’t seem to be the ones shooting. Maybe enemy troops seeking shelter from friendly gunfire (who am I kidding? They won’t be over here. There’s not supposed to be troops in this section of the city.) and I allow myself to hope, the odds very low. Even if they are friendlies shooting at the people in here, I won’t live to see them.

The furniture slams back against the door and the run into the living room, not seeing me from where I crouch in the partially open door, looking out through the crack, unable to see anything but gear- grenades, ammo, guns, vests- everything I didn’t get when I joined the Air Force (still the best branch despite the shitty working conditions) and everything I wish I had.

One of the giant meat trees stands close to the door and I push the door open slightly, jumping out and onto his back, arm wrapping around his throat and legs wrapping around his waist tightly, throwing my weight forwards to get him to fall. But it doesn’t work- curse you minimal air force training!!!- and he slams backwards into the wall, knocking the breath out of me and my limbs loosen enough that he grabs my leg and pulls me off, throwing me across the room and into the opposite wall.

I gasp as I hit it and fall to the ground, struggling to catch my breath and hearing the cocking of a gun, resigning myself to death and more than a little ashamed that I didn’t take it first.

“What’s your name soldier?” I hear a voice command and I open my mouth to talk, coughing and choking out blood at the sudden intake of air instead.

Suddenly someone is in my field of view, rolling me onto my side and it dribbles out my mouth and onto the brown-stained-once-white carpet.

“Don’t bother. She won’t last the next five minutes.” The same voice says and the hands that are combing through the short, thick hair on my head looking for the mysterious bleeding wound stop, leaving my head.

“Watch… me…” I say, my voice gurgling but mind still accepting the challenge, even if my body wants to give up.

“A fighter, huh. Go on then. Last five minutes and we’ll help you.” I feel one of the hands that moved from my hair to rest on my arm twitch. This is probably the medic, trying his hardest to not resist his commanders orders.

The knowledge that I still don’t know what side these people are on hits me, and suddenly I don’t want to last five minutes. Pushing the man’s gentle yet firm hands away with a new found strength, I open my hands and clumsily stand, stumbling a few steps before falling to my knees. Determined, I tear at the secret pocket on the breast of my uniform and rip the pill out. Hands grab at me as I try and shove it down my throat, getting it out of my mouth and out the open window next to me. I elbow the one behind me, not doing any damage but still stunning him. A hard object hits me in the head and everything spins as the pain courses through me, my vision going in and out. I wobble before falling forward, would have hit the floor face first if it wasn’t for the arms the grabbed me and pulled me to a solid body.

I see an American flag patch and I briefly wonder why they’re here before I fade out of consciousness.

  
  
  


“Hey, sweetie, you got to stay awake right now, okay. You’ll be able to sleep later but right now I need you awake.” A gentle hand shakes me out of the memory and it fades away slightly.

“Can you open your mouth real wide for me sweetie?” She asks and I do it, feeling a tube being inserted into my mouth and down my throat.

“It’ll be over in a little bit, okay.” She says, soothing my hair down when I gag on the tube. A greenish-brownish-purplish colored substance flows through the tube and true to her word, it’s over in about ten minutes and after making sure there’s very little, if not none, left in my stomach, they remove the tube. The doctor buzzes around checking my pupil dilation and having me follow his finger, like Tim did. But unlike Tim, his facial expression doesn’t change from the calm and composed look he’s probably mastered for hopeless cases, he simply writes down notes on his clipboard.

“Is it good or bad?” I croak out, my throat numb.

“Better.” He replies simply and I frown a little, watching as he leaves the room.

“Alright, we’ll need to get you changed into the hospital gown. Will you need help or do you think you can do it on your own?” She asks and I’m about to say I can do it myself before y hazy memory turns up the one from earlier when I tried to stand but fell immediately.

“I’ll need help,” I say softly, ashamed of accepting the help of the nurse.

“Okay. Let’s stand up and go into the bathroom.” She helps me stand from the bed and her and another nurse hold onto each of my arms while we walk the short distance from the bed.

It takes about ten minutes of slowly peeling off my clothes and trying to get the hospital gown on but eventually it is. Looking in the mirror, I look absolutely wrecked- bloodshot eyes, wild hair, pale face, sweating slightly, pupils constricted but everything’s still too bright, way too bright. It’s a living nightmare and I feel myself lean forward, grip the sides of the sink for balance, faint feelings of the nurses grabbing onto my arms, questions of if I’m okay, what’s wrong, all while explosions get louder and louder, gunfire going krack krack krack, getting closer and closer,  voices screaming at me to move and screaming at me to die- until it’s gone. The nurses questions fade back to the forefront and everything else disappears.

“I’m fine. Just got dizzy.” I say and they accept it with skepticism, but they take back into the room and lay me down on the hard uncomfortable hospital bed and hook me back up to the I.V. and monitors.

“I’ve been here before. I know not to roll around and to stay on my back.” I tell the nurse before she can say it and she nods with a sad smile. They both leave and I’m left alone in the silence, with not even my thoughts there to plague me as my eyes drift shut and I fall asleep.

 

I awake at the feeling of being jostled and bent at an awkward angle, arms wrapped around my bent knees and the middle of my back, head hanging down, before being slid onto the ground against a wall. Trying to open my eyes, it’s impossible. It feels like they’ve been glued shut with gorilla glue.

“When is she going to wake up? She’s a liability that we can’t afford to keep carrying around with us. She’s going to cause us to get killed.” A stern but calm voice asks, and gentle hands brush at the hair on my head pulling something that was wrapped on me tightly away and pressing down slightly, sending little spikes of pain through me. That’s probably where the mystery blood dripping down my forehead came from.

“I don’t know. You hit her pretty hard in the head. For all we know, she could wake up in the next five minutes or never wake up again or anywhere in between. But I do know that she has a pulse, which means she’s alive. And that patch on her uniform means I have to try and help her until that pulse is gone.” The tight thing is placed back- a bandage of some kind?- and then the hands are moving to my calf where a bandage is wrapped too. They must have pulled out the shrapnel.

I try opening my eyes again and moving my fingers as well. My eyes don’t open but I’m rewarded with a glorious wag of my fingers.

“I can- hear- you.” I gurgle out between gasps, and then the hands are gone and replaced with the bandage. I force my eyes open and see kind ones that belong to a man crouching in front of me, and a giant man standing behind him. Around us, the two other soldiers migrate window to window, looking outside for a threat.

“You’re awake. Good. Maybe you can tell us who you are and what you’re doing here.” He holds his rifle in his hands like he expects enemies to jump out and attack at any time, which, I suppose, isn’t too much of an exaggeration

“Gunner. I operated the machine gun in the planes. We were ordered to take out anti aircraft above the city so they could drop an A-bomb right in the middle of it and be done with the whole thing. We must have missed one when we were mapping them out and got shot down in the park across from the building you found me. There were no other survivors.” I don’t mention Blade killing himself or the orders I had, to kill myself if alive on enemy territory.

“They were going to drop a bomb with our boys still here, with us still here. Sounds like the government. Always clearing up loose ends.” He ends in a mumble and walks to a window, looking at the sunset.

“We’re camping here tonight. Watches of two. We’ll start with me and Thomas. Then Willis and Browning. Half the night for each watch. Gunner, get some sleep. You’ll want it tomorrow.” The commander says and I nod smalley.

“Here’s your gas mask back. I picked it up before we left the building where we found you. I didn’t know if you would want it or not.” He hands it to me and I thank him before wiping the dirt off the eye lenses, inside and out.

The medic watches with keen eyes as I slip it on, doing my best not to mess up the bandages on my head.

“Let me help,” he says crouching next to my head and helping me to slip on the mask without moving the bandages around.

I lay down with my back against the wall, curled up in a ball to try and stay warm. The medic stands and grabs his gun, walking to a window and I watch him move from window to window, kind eyes sharp and staring. I feel my own start to drift shut and I let them, not trusting these people on my own team but left with no choice.

  
  


I awake alone, in the middle of the night, freezing cold. It’s impossible to tell what time it is, or if it’s even night, seeing as all the curtains in my room are closed. They look heavy and thick, probably blackout curtains.

Slowly feeling my way along the wires and tubes, I unhook the heart monitor and stand from the bed, taking the I.V. with me and out of the room.

The hallway outside is trashed, blood splattered on the walls and beds overturned, beds bleeding out on the floor. I gag, the smell of rotting and burning flesh permeating the air.  I take the I.V. tube out of my arm and pick up the pole, ready to smack whatever comes my way.

Dead silence, only the noise of my bare feet silently padding down the hall. The once bustling and loud halls of the emergency section replaced with this silence, one that more than hints at death. It unnerves me more than anything.

The elevator at the end of the hall looks like it still works but I opt out of it, instead choosing the stairwell, which is strangely clear of bodies and blood.

I walk down them quickly until I get to the ground floor, the door having been blown off the hinges outward. As I walk through the door, someone lunges at me, and I smack them away with the pole, tossing them against the wall. Someone else yells and gunshots are fired at me. I grab the gun from the man I just hit and fire back, louder yells indicating that I hit my intended target.

Two more men pop out of nowhere and I fire at them until they’re both laying on the ground in a pool of their own blood.

Panting, I head towards the exit of the hospital, not noticing how the walls change from hospital white to hard paneling slowly. Only when I walk through the door do I realize I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I’m in someone’s house. I feel the wind get knocked out me and I fall onto the floor, four people standing over me, well, three actually because the fourth one is one knee next to my head.

“You shouldn’t have trusted us. You shouldn’t have trusted anyone.” The darkness clears and I can see their faces, revealing themselves to me as the people I trust most in this world. Damian, Dick, and Jason stand over me, sneering while Tim kneels next to me, pressing a gun to my head.

“This is what happens when you trust people,” he whispers to me, a tear falling from his face and landing on the ground near me. He pulls the trigger, sending me spiraling, falling through a dark void and I land with a crash back on the hospital bed.

 

I shoot up, gasping for air and tearing at the tubes and wires hooked up to me. Light streams into the room but I don’t pay attention to it, the only thing running through my brain screams get out, get away.

“Gunner, stop, you’re okay. You’re fine.” Tim jumps up from chair he was dozing off in and grabs at my hands, pulling them away from the wires.

My eyes can’t seem to focus and my brain is foggy, memory of the nightmare I just suffered present in the forefront of my brain. I struggle against Tim’s grip, tears starting to pool in my eyes at the inability to get out of it.

“Gunner, please, stop.” He begs me, holding onto me tighter. “Help! Nurse! Please!” He cries out letting go of me with one hand to pound on the nurse call button. I take my chance and break his grip, pouncing on him and wrapping my hands tightly around his windpipe, sitting on his chest with my knees holding his shoulders down.

Tim gasps, his hands clawing at me, trying to get me to let go until they get weaker and weaker. Just as he’s about to stop, nurses burst in along with Dick and Jason. They pull me off Tim and back onto the bed, holding my arms and legs down while a nurse approaches with a needle, poking it into the I.V. tube and pressing down on the plunger.

The sedative has a slight orange tint to it as it flows down the tube and into my body, my struggling lessening until I fall back into darkness once more.

  
  


When I wake up again, I’m strapped to the bed tightly. Next to me, Jason sits reading a book, looking completely at peace right now. I clear my throat to get his attention, and he looks up at me from his book, closing it and setting it down.

“Are you feeling better? Got all your murderous urges out on Tim? Because while I would enjoy seeing you strapped down, the hospital is not an okay background.” I nod, a blush covering my cheeks at that thought and he reaches over the bed to unstrap me, moving quickly.

“So why did you wake up and immediately start choking Tim out, who is doing fine by the way.” Jason’s eyes search my face and I look up at the ceiling, trying to recall all the details of the dream.

“I had a nightmare, or rewatched a memory of sorts, and I woke up freaking out. I didn’t even realize it was Tim I was choking, not entirely, anyways.” I explain, feeling Jason’s thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand in a soothing motion.

“Do you want to explain what was going on in your nightmare?” He asks gently.

I give him a run down of the nightmare, omitting the part about the boys shooting me instead of the soldiers. That’s something I’m keeping for myself.

“How long has this been going on, Gunner? How long have you been having these nightmares?” He demands out of me and I hold up four fingers.

“Four years. You should have said something, We would  have gotten you help, you know that, right?” I nod but don’t say anything, instead choosing to stare up at the ceiling.

He sighs quietly, shaking his head. “Are you hungry? I can have someone go and get you something to eat or sneak tacos in here.” I give a small smile at that thought but shake my head.

“I’m just tired.” I say simply, and he nods.

“‘Then sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

“Okay.” I lean back and close my eyes, hearing Jason shuffle a bit- probably picking up his book to read again- and feel the drowsiness over take me.

 

Cold. It’s the first thing I register. The second thing is dark. Footsteps approach and walk past, equipment rustling as they move. A second pair of steps comes into range and I remember that the commander had watches over the night.

I feel the gas mask straps digging into my face but I don’t try taking it off, no need to mess up the bandages when the medic is probably asleep. I wouldn’t want to wake him up.

I hear a little shuffling near me and then something is laid on top of me and warmth envelops me. A blanket probably. The person sits next to me and his fingers pry at my gas mask. Rolling over to help him get it off, I see it’s the medic, looking quite tired and kinda cold. I open my eyes and sit up, scooting closer to him and putting the blanket over him as well. He stiffens a little as I curl up against him but he eventually wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer into his side.

I feel myself falling back asleep, ten times warmer and more comfortable, the medics gentle, deep breaths like a lullaby.


	2. High Points Are Great

True to his word, Jason’s still here when I wake up, only instead of reading, he’s asleep, a travel pillow wrapped around the back of his neck. I smile at the sight of him so unguarded and vulnerable, a sight only I ever get to see.

Unable to muster up the nerve to wake him, I decide to walk a little, the I.V. tube having been disconnected in my sleep at some point. The floor is cold against my bare feet and a chilling wind blows on my bare calves and arms.

I steal Jason’s jacket from him, which was resting on his bag next to the chair. It’s big on me, and the sleeves hang past my hands by about two inches, but it’s warm.

The hallway is quiet, but not deathly quiet, nurses conversing at their station silently. I pad down the hall silently, walking up to them.

“Is Tim okay?” I ask quietly, so as not to startle them and they look at me.

“He’s fine. He’s in a room resting. Like you’re supposed to be right now.” She gives me a gentle smile.

“Could I see him. Just for a little bit. I want to say sorry.” I ask and she mulls it over, eventually nodding.

“He’s in room 201. It’s on the floor above us. There’s an elevator around that corner and down the hall.” She points to the left of us and I follow her finger

“Thank you. And if someone comes out of my room asking where I am, just tell him I went to visit Tim please.” She nods.

“Of course. Now, get going. The other nurses on this floor won’t be so lenient.” I thank her again and scamper off down the hall. I press the button for the elevator and wait patiently. The light starts to flicker and I frown, doing my best to ignore it, until it goes out completely.

The elevator comes and the doors open. I nearly sprint in, jamming my finger against the fourth floor button repeatedly until the doors shut.

Even going just one floor up, it takes forever and when the doors finally open, I jump out and into the hallway. I go down the hall and turn the corner finding 201 quite quickly and open the door slowly.

Inside, Tim lays on a bed with a neck brace on and hooked up to a steadily beeping heart monitor. His eyes are closed and the rise and fall of his chest is slow.

The guilt rises up in me, he looks so small in the hospital bed, his skin even paler because of the white lights that are dimmed down so he can sleep. 

I cross the room quickly and sit in the chair next to his bed, grabbing hold of his hand and gripping it tightly.

I sit there for god knows how long, holding his hand while he sleeps, eventually falling asleep myself. I’m shaken awake by soft hands and someone whispering my name.

“Hey, Gunner, you need to wake up. C’mon, wake up.” I lift my head from off the bed and see a pair of intense green eyes.

“Hey Damian.” I yawn out. “What are you doing here?”

“I got a call from Jason that you were missing while I was on my way to visit. Figured you would be here.” He explains as he lifts me from the chair, ignoring my protesting.

“I can’t leave. I need to wait until he wakes up.” I mumble, slapping Damian’s hands away.

“You also need to go back to your room. You can see him in a few days. You’re getting released tomorrow. Now let’s go.” I give up and let him help me up from the chair. 

We get questioning looks from the nurses on this floor but they don’t say anything. When we get to my room, I collapse heavily on the bed, pulling Damian on to it as well and wrapping the blankets around us.

“Gunner, I need my jacket.” Jason says and I toss it to him. “Thanks babe. You’re the best.” Jason leans over Damian and kisses me right on the lips.

“No problem. Now get going. You have things to do, don’t you.” I push him away gently with a smile.

“Yeah yeah. Just remember, tomorrow, you’re all mine when you get released.”  

“Bye.” I call out as he leaves.

“I have to go out tonight.” Damian says as I curl up against him.

“Not anymore you don’t.”

“But-” I press a soft kiss to his lips and stop his sentence in its tracks.

“You’re staying and we’re cuddling.” 

“Fine.” He gives in wrapping his arms tighter around me and pulling me as close as physically possible.

“I think I’m too tired to cuddle.” I mumble into his chest.

“Then sleep.” He rubs circles on my back and I smile into him.

“Okay.” I’m asleep in a minute.

 

I awake to shouting. Loud, insane, crying, screaming, shouting. Obviously not anyone on the team. A strong hand grabs my hair and lifts me off the ground, the blanket falling down beside me. I struggle in its grasp, my feet lifted off the ground, waving around and hoping to kick something. I’m pulled toward the hands body, and a knife gets pressed against my throat. I can see everyone with their guns raised, a woman being held against the ground by the commander, and two children slumped over in the corner. I feel myself grow cold despite the hot temperatures of the room.

The screaming gets louder and louder until finally, a gunshot goes off, I’m dropped to the floor with a thump, and another body hits with an even louder thud. The room is silent for a second before the woman’s incessant screaming starts again and the commander slams her head against the ground, knocking her out and effectively shutting her up. 

The man that was holding me up stares back at me lifelessly, blood pooling around his head and heading towards me. I scramble up and back against the wall, hands crossed over my chest.

“Let’s go. They’re sure to have alerted everyone within a two block radius.” The commander stands and pulls out his pistol, shooting the woman on the ground.

My mouth gapes open and the bile rises in my throat.

“Hey, let’s go.” A sympathetic yet stern voice says and grabs my arm, pulling me away from the wall with a gentle force.

“Are- are they-” I stutter out, looking at the kids.

“It was us or them.” The medic answers, eyes looking forward as we leave the building.

“Oh,” I say quietly.

Once outside, we break into a run, sprinting away from the building. Three blocks later, we slow down, jogging now instead of flat out running. Another five, and we duck into a bombed building, half of it’s roof missing and all the windows blown out from the heat from what could only have been a fire fueled by jet fuel.

I lean against the wall inside, coughing from the sudden physical activity immediately after waking up. I shiver, my mind conjuring images of the dead bodies we left back there, bile rises in my throat and I feel the urge to vomit, but instead swallow it down.

“Hey, calm down, breath, it’s okay, you’re fine,” the medic wipes away a tear that somehow evaded my notice while everyone else watches outside.

“We need to go.” The commander says and looks at me. “I don’t care if you’re 100%. If you’re going to stay with us then you need to get used to it. Otherwise, you need to leave. I will not put these boys in danger because you haven’t seen people get shot before. It’s not my job to care if it upset you. So pull yourself together, right now.” The commander says harshly, and the medic frowns, moving in front of me just a fraction of an inch, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“This is a war, not a love story. If she’s not bleeding, vomiting, or dying, then she’s fine and you can be on guard. Do not get attached. Anything could happen.” He says, glaring at the medic until he moves away.

“Here, I assume you’ve fired a gun before and are pretty decent at aiming.” The commander hands me his backup pistol and it’s holster. “Since you don’t have a belt, the ammo is on me. Just say something when you need more.” I nod, strapping the holster around my shoulder, adjusting it until it’s tight enough that it won’t move.

“We have four miles until we get to the safe zone. We should be able to make it today. And if we don’t, we keep walking through the night until we do. Let’s go.” He leaves the building and the two other soldiers follow.

As I leave, the medic grabs my arm, holding me back. “Are you okay?” 

I nod, motioning for him to go first. He looks skeptical but goes anyway. Following after, I note the intense silence outside, as if the city is holding its breath for something, something we don’t get to know about until it’s right on top of us. 

The tension is palpable, so thick a tank couldn’t shoot through it. Everyone’s on edge as we creep through the city at a steady pace, crunching on rubble and glass, thankful for the thick boots I got even in the air force. Suddenly, the captain holds up a fist and everyone stops. We crouch there for a minute, listening, when the first wave of bullets rain down from the building to the left of us. 

We scatter, taking off in different directions and hiding behind bigger pieces, no one daring to try and stick a limb out to shoot back, too scared of losing it. One of the men lay out their in the road, not fast enough getting to cover, eyes glossy and blank, a pool of red forming on the ground around him and spreading out. My stomach twists and I look away from him, swallowing thickly and instead focusing on the issue at hand. A flash of movement in a window catches my eye and I stare at it, just barely seeing a glint of grey peeking between the drawn curtains. My eyes widen slightly and I raise my gun towards the window, firing a few shots at it as fast as I can, watching them wiz through the curtains and the glint of grey fall off the window sill. 

On the other side of the car I’m behind, the gunfire stops, reloading whatever gun they were using.

I catch the medics eye and he stares at me, shaking his head no, like he knows exactly I was thinking. I get into a crouch, count to three, and sprint into the building behind me, bursting through the door behind me with a bang, gun raised and looking around. I move further into the building, finding the rife resting on the ground next to a dead body, relief visible on my face.

“Hey, guys, get in here. Before they start shooting again.” My voice is calm, unwavering and I move the curtains aside so they can see me. The commander stares hard but moves towards the door anyways.

Just as the commander gets in, a volley of bullets sprays into the room through the different windows and the commander literally jumps against the wall. I crouch beneath the window, holding the rifle in my hands and pointed to the side and at the ground.

“They can’t get in if they’re shooting at us, it’ll be suicide.” I lift the gun up and onto the windowsill, looking through the scope for the people operating the machine gun. One, two, three of them taken out. The spray stops for a minute and I leap out the window, ducking behind a nearby car and peeking around. Four, five, one more to go.

“Get your ass in that building!” I scream at the two people looking at me. Willis ducks inside through the door and the medic goes through the window. One more to get inside.

Browning moves towards me and I gaze around through the scope, looking for the sixth person, but they’re nowhere to be found.

A small round of bullets shoot in front of Browning and he stops, scooting backwards to his cover. It’s coming from a window, the shooter ducking down beneath it and out of sight.

“C’mon Browning, move it.” I say, and he moves towards me, still looking at the window. The man peeks his head out again and I stand up, shooting him in the head. But not before he gets off a few shots. 

The bullets tear through me, making my stomach look like swiss cheese. I collapse backwards, dropping the gun as I fall backwards.

“Fuck that hurt.” I mumble as I roll onto my stomach and push myself up, using the wall as a brace.

“Don’t move,” the medic pulls me back down to the ground and holds me on my back. 

He takes out a few rolls of bandages and wads them up, shoving them into the three holes in my abdomen.

The commander stands watch over us while Browning runs towards us.

“Willis, I need you to run to the safe zone and get help. It’s about a quarter of a mile down the road. Get them to send an ambulance of some kind or transportation. Browning, go with him.” Willis nods and him and Browning take off.

“Hey… look at me. Don’t you dare close your eyes.” My eyelids flutter shut, opening in shock at the slap to my face.

“You don’t get to die. Not after everything we’ve been through with your ass.” The commander stands from his crouch next to me and I nod dully.

A faint rumbling and the commander has his gun lifted to his face in a flash, looking through the scope then pulling it down. 

“Time to rock and roll.” He lifts me in his arms, jogging towards the approaching vehicles.

The medic objects but collects his stuff and follows quickly. The ambulance doors open and two men jump out with a bed that the commander sets me on.

“You better not die.” He says one last time and I weakly salute him. 

The medics in the ambulance get to work quickly, attaching a drip and putting pressure on the holes in my abdomen, pressing more than uncomfortably hard, the pain starting to be unbearable almost.

My vision goes in and out, black spots filling my eyesight in random intervals as the ambulance comes to a stop in the safe zone, people opening the doors and pulling my bed out. I get pushed into a building where a bunch of nurses tend to other soldiers, turning to stare as they quickly roll me down the hall to a waiting operating room.

“Seriously, you couldn’t have gotten an injury slightly more grievous than this? This is the tamest thing I’ve seen all day.” The doctor jokes, injecting painkillers through the IV in my arm.

“I didn’t give the guy enough time to shoot more, sorry.” I say, my voice drifting off as my eyelids grow heavy. 

“I don’t want to die,” I mumble before I’m completely gone, the dark closing in completely and my head rolling to the side.   



	3. Out Of The Pan And Into The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter, filler chapter to help get the story where I want it to get faster. The double spaced sections are supposed to help you understand where the change from present to flashback occurs but I don't know if it quite came through.

 

 

 

 

My eyes shoot open at the subtle noise of the door opening, the slight squeaking noise waking me right up.

 

“It’s me, don’t worry. You’re  being discharged  today. I came to get you.” Dick says, giving me a soft smile that soothed my racing heart.

  

“I brought clean clothes. Get changed and I’ll contact your nurse to bring the discharge papers.” He sets the bag on the bed and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

   

I sit up on the bed, shaking off the remnants of sleep and open the duffel, seeing a flannel tee and skinny jeans. I pull them both out and unroll them, a pair of underwear and a matching bra falling out.  Laughing, I pick it up off the floor, unable to believe that Dick ‘I’ve slept with more girls than y’all have seen in your entire life combined’ Grayson used a shirt to grab my undergarments out of the drawer .

 

I get dressed  quickly  after that, rolling the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbow. Stuffing the other clothes in the bag, I see my dog tags, the ones I always wear, and pull them over my head.

 

“I’m done!” I yell out and Dick comes back in, followed by a nurse with a set of papers.

 

“We’ve already discussed the billing and payment details. You’re free to go Miss Wayne.” She says  tersely  and I look at Dick in confusement after she leaves.

 

“Miss Wayne?” He looks away in embarrassment.

  

“Well, it was the only way that Bruce would be able to pay for your bills.” He takes the duffel bag from me and grabs my hand as we walk down the hallway.

 

“What if I was going to pay them?” I grumble, knowing I wouldn’t be able to.

  

“Well then that’s too bad.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

 

We leave out the back way, avoiding the press that very likely saw him drive here, even in his very plain Honda.  Jason and Damian are in there, waiting for us to show up and I decide to have a little fun, sneaking up the window and banging on the door, startling Jason out of the book he was reading .

 

“What the hell?” He exclaims, giving me a death glare.

 

I shrug, opening the door behind him and tossing my stuff in the back before climbing in after it. Damian all but pounces on me and tackles me in a hug, squeezing with every once of his strength.

 

“Can’t- breathe.” I gasp out  hoarsely .

 

“Sorry. It’s so good to see you.” Loosening his grip on me, he keeps ahold of me, whispering the words in my ear.

  

“It’s good to see you too Birdy.”  I mumble into his neck, gripping him around the shoulders while he has his arms wrapped  tightly  around my midsection .

 

“Hey, yoohoo, love birds, get buckled up so we can leave.”  Dick calls out from the front of the car and I roll my eyes, releasing my grip on Damian and settling in the seat next to him, strapping the seat belt across my lap and leaning into his body .

 

“Do you know when Tim is being released?”  I break the silence first, watching as Dick looks in the mirror at me  quickly  and Damian kind of huffs, holding me closer to him .

 

“I haven’t talked to the doctors yet.” Dick mumbles, glancing out the window before continuing through the intersection.

 

“Oh.”  I mutter, feeling Jason’s eyes on me but refusing to look up at him, instead opting for pressing my face into Damian’s chest so I don’t have to look .

 

The car goes back to silence, a reminder of what I’ve done hanging on the air and filling our lungs and brains with it.  The tension builds and builds (  probably  because of my ptsd), and I start to suffocate a little, everything becoming foggy and unclear .

 

The tension builds and builds until I can’t take it anymore, gripping the sides of my head  in an effort to  get it to stop. But it doesn’t. It never stops.

 

“Hey, Gunner. What’s wrong?” Damian asks, unwrapping his arm from my shoulders and lifting my head up to look at him.

 

I don’t say anything- I can’t say anything.  The pressure in my head is unbearable, pushing out any other rational thought besides ‘Make it stop ! For the love of all that is holy, get rid of it!’ and ‘I’m going to die’.

 

“Dick pull over. Now!”  Damian says and the vehicle pulls off the road , Damian unbuckling and pulling me towards him, a door opening and closing in the background .

 

In my head, the explosions and pounding, pulsing noise gets closer and louder-

 

 

 

Until it  just  stops. I sit up, stomach protesting against the action and I lay back down on the uncomfortable cot.  Looking around, I see people that are in way worse condition than me, some with missing limbs, some with Swiss cheese bodies, others with torn and blown to bits faces  . It’s a horrible sight, one that I’m positive is going to stick with me for the rest of my life.  I look up at the tent ceiling and close my eyes, trying to drown out the cries and screams and groans of pain, the misery surrounding me . I would rather have died out there

 

 

  

 

A pill gets shoved into my hand and I shove it in my mouth before they can take it away again. The voices quiet and the intense tension fades to a dull ache. But there’s also a slight problem. I’m falling asleep.

 

“Why the fuck are you putting me to sleep?’ The anger doesn’t come through, instead translating to whining and fall against Damian, the pill and his hands petting my head, lulling me to sleep immediately .


	4. The Justice League are a bunch of pricks to war heroes with PTSD induced dreams

I wake with a start in my bed, pitch black outside and inside, not even a light on in the hallway. Memories of my last waking nightmare fill my mind and I shiver, hoping to god that this is real life.

The wood floor is cold beneath my bare feet, a slight breeze from the open window blowing across the exposed parts of my legs. Padding across the floor , I pull the door open, wincing at the creak it makes and stepping into the moonlit hall. This would be the perfect scenery for a photo, I doubt Tim would mind if I borrowed his camera. The thought runs through my mind, enough to make me pause and think about what would be the best scene for a photo right now, planning the entire thing out.

I stop, shaking my head and continuing on to my intended destination. The ground floor is dark as well, and I feel more than see Titus coming towards me, the vibrations of his steps pounding in my feet.

“Hey boy. They kick you out of the cave?” He nuzzles his head into my leg and I smile, scratching behind his ear a little and continuing to the cave.

As I set the clock, the anxiety fills up my gut. Alfred wouldn’t have turned the lights off downstairs. Upstairs-maybe so I can sleep with the door open if I need to. But why would he turn them off down here. I step into the elevator and press the down arrow, pressing myself into the corner and ignoring the sinking feeling that’s in my gut from more than the ride down. It comes to a slow stop, and the doors open, soft voices speaking between noise made from the water.

I stumble out of the elevator and up the steps to the main area, seeing the justice league sitting at the table listening to Superman talk. Bruce sees me and his eyes grow wide for a fraction of a second but it’s long enough for me and everyone else to catch it. They turn towards me and stare at me, equal looks of confusion on their faces.

“Miss James! What are you doing out of bed?” Alfred asks but I ignore him, continuing past him and up to where Bruce sits.

“Gunner, what’s wrong?” His voice has a slight edge to it, a questioning tone that also has a bit of fear mixed, fear of me.

I don’t say anything, instead collapsing onto him and gripping him tight, breathing in the smell of his uniform and reminding myself that this is real, this _is_ real. Bruce's arms move to hold me tight, understanding on some level that this is what I need. Murmurs from the Justice League also help to ground me, but they also serve to remind me that I’m not wanted here, not important to their eyes. And why would I be, especially after I had to do compared to their ‘shall-not-kill’ literal god complex.

I sniffle, feeling the tears try and leak out of my eyes against my wishes.

“What’s wrong?” It’s this simple question asked by the only real father figure I’ve had in my life that causes me to break down in sobs on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I killed them. I didn’t want to but I did and now I can’t take it back. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want the ptsd, I don’t want the memories, the scars, I don’t want any of it anymore! I need it all to stop. The voices, a-and the flashbacks! I-I,” I stutter the words out between sobs, feeling the stares but not caring one bit.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I forgive you.” He whispers, soothing my hair down on my head and holding me in his lap like a child as I cry into his shoulder like one at the simple declaration of him forgiving me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear from anyone.

I hear an engine and realize it must be one of the boys coming back, but not bothering to look up to check. The clang of a helmet dropping to the ground and footsteps rushing towards us means it’s Jason. He takes me from Bruce and easily holds me against him, a questioning look on his face as I continue to cry, but less now, as if that moment was only reserved for me and dad- I mean Bruce.

“Take her upstairs please. We’ll talk later.” He’s back to his gruff, Batman voice but I can hear the underlying layer of concern in it, concern for me.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Jason’s words don’t have the exact same effect as Bruce’s, but they still work to calm me, my crying turning to sniffling by the time we get upstairs, Titus coming over and sniffing on us anxiously, responding to my emotions as well as Jason’s.

Jason sits down on one of the couches in the living room, holding me close to him as I clutch onto the back of his jacket. It doesn’t take long before Bruce is coming upstairs, stripped of his uniform, wearing a turtleneck and sweats and trying to get Jason to leave.

“This is a private conversation me and Gunner need to have. If she wants to share the contents of this conversation with you afterwards, then It’ll be her choice to make. But right now I’m making the decision to keep it from you.” Bruce says calmly as Jason proceeds to throw a fit like a three year old.

“If it’s her choice then why can’t she decide on me being in there in the first place?” He whines-slash-growls.

“Because-”

“Jason go, okay. I’ll talk with you after.” I interrupt Bruce, the hurt look on Jason’s face painful to look at, much less to be the cause of.

“Okay.” He nods, walking away, and I sigh as Bruce shuts the doors.

He takes a seat on the couch and looks me in the eye for a moment before averting his gaze even quicker.

“I want you to start seeing a therapist. Someone to help you with the memories and the ptsd and the nightmares. Someone to help you with the guilt.” He whispers, not used to having to say this kind of thing to someone before, much less family.

“Oh.” It’s a little mutter out of my mouth, what he said not much of a surprise to me. If we’re going to be honest with each other, I was expecting it.

“I’ve already found you one. They’re very good and have good reputation. It’s your choice on when you have appointments but I will be having Alfred make sure you make them and he will take you there and pick you up. This will help you, I promise.” He says, putting his hand on my shoulder and looking me in the eyes.

That’s what I’m scared of.

“I know."


	5. Like An Army, Falling, One By One By One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the chapters I'd written during school, which is why it's so short compared to the others. But I'm out for summer now so longer chapters are definitely in the future.
> 
> You might also notice that the chapter title is a song lyric, but from what song?

“Sir. You wanted to see me.” I stand at attention with my hands folded behind my back, not focusing on anywhere in the tent in particular.

“Yes. It’s best if you don’t return to active duty after you get back to the states.” He wasted no time in getting to the point, leaving me speechless.

“W-what?” I’m unable to comprehend it.

“It’s your choice but you were stranded out there for two weeks and then spent another two weeks recovering from wounds sustained out there. It’s for the best if you don’t go back.” He rests his arms on the desk in front of me, looking me in the eyes while he speaks.

“O-okay.”

“Again, it’s your choice to make. Now get out of here. You have a plane to catch.” He smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Yes sir.” I pick my bag up off the ground where I’d set it and leave the tent, jogging towards the plane that the medic was waiting by.

“Are you ready to go home?” He asked.

“Readier than I’ve ever been,” I reply, shocking myself with it but causing a smile to appear on his face.

“Then get on.” He pushes me up the plane ramp and I take a seat near the end of the row, the medic sitting next to me and grabbing my hand after buckling in.

I smile, leaning my head back and closing my eyes, peace washing over me as sleep takes over.

  
  


I’m snapped awake by the plane rattling and shaking in the air, bouncing my head all over the place.

“What the hell?” I ask, looking around me at everyone there. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going back. The wars not over for you. Not yet.” The medic still sits beside me holding my hand, but there’s something off about it.

“Y-your face!,” I whisper, stricken as I watch the flesh rot and dissolves in spots, leaving gaping holes in his face and exposing bone and muscle.

“What’s wrong with?” He asks, oblivious to what's happening to him.

“I-I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back.” I pull my hand out of his grip and claw at the seat belt holding me in the seat, unable to get out of it.

“You can’t get out. There’s no escape.” He whispers in my ear.

I whimper, feeling the plane starts down towards the ground at a steep angle. My view out the window allows me to see that we’re dive bombing towards the city, getting closer and closer. The medic laughs next to me, a hysterical, crazed laugh that chills me to my core.

Closing my eyes, the laughter fades into the background as I wait for the plane to strike the earth…

  
  


Sitting bolt upright in the bed, I gasp, tears streaming down my face as the panic courses through my veins, filling my lungs and rendering me a mess.

“Hey, Gunner, it’s okay. You’re okay. It was a dream. I promise.” Dick sits up next to me, pulling me into his lap and holding me against his bare chest as I have a panic attack.

“Sh sh sh…” he mumbles into my hair, my sobs echoing through the otherwise silent room. “You’re okay. I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”

I cry harder, wrapping my arms around his back and clutch at him, digging my fingers into his back and holding on like my life depends on it.

I don’t know how long Dick holds me, but I start to drift off to sleep as his fingers rub small circles on my back and he coos into my ear..

The last thing I hear before I fall back asleep is a whispered,“You’re okay. I love you.”


	6. I'll Never Kill Myself To Save My Soul

The therapist's office is a small, bright colored building, standing out yet blending in at the same time. It’s the fifth one on the list that I’ve tried today and Alfred has, thankfully, been very patient with my pickiness as he drives me around town to the different doctors.

The cheeriness of the exterior offers a very misleading truth as the minute I walk in, it’s dark. Not pitch black, but still dark enough that it’s hard to see. Creepy and run down are the adjectives for this place. A lady sits behind a barred window in front of a glowing computer screen. A cockroach skitters towards me and my stomach flips as I move backwards away from it. Somewhere in the darkness someone laughs at nothing and the rising anxiety in my gut hints at an oncoming panic attack.

“Hello!” A voice in my ear says and I scream, bolting out the door.

I hurriedly get back in the car out front, buckling and mumbling under my breath.

“Miss James! You were in there for barely a minute!” Alfred exclaims.

“I think I want to try Metropolis now.” I shake my head, trying to clear myself of the fear.

Alfred doesn’t ask questions, he only drives away with a shake of his head.

* * *

 “So how did it go? Did you find one that will work?” Dick asks as I flop down next to him on the couch.

“Nope. Think I'm gonna find one in Metropolis. All the ones here didn’t seem promising.” I say, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the couch.

“Hmm. I’ll see if Tim can get together a list then.” Dick offers and I hum in response.

“So why are you here, other than to see my beautiful face?” I laugh, getting up off the couch.

“I want burgers. And I want you to come with me.” He looks up from his laptop and gives me a questioning look.

“Why not get Jason to take you?”

“He’s on a mission and will be for a while. Which leaves you. And Damian but he doesn’t eat burgers. So that leaves you. Please?” I give him my best puppy dog eyes and he groans playfully, shutting his laptop and getting up.

“Fine. Now let’s go.” I grin, grabbing his hand and pulling him along and out the door of his safe house.

* * *

 “These burgers are amazing!” He says, munching away on his third one while I finish off my fries.

“Don’t eat too much. You’ll make yourself sick if you do.” I shake my head, unable to believe him.

“Yeah yeah. Just shut up and eat your fries.” He says around a mouthful of food.

* * *

 I’m strapped to a bed at all four limbs, writhing against the bonds holding me down. The dingy hospital around me provides fuel for nightmares to come- the dirty, stained tiles of the floor and patchy walls, the rats crawling in the corner, but most importantly, the man, standing over me with a needle in hand and smile on his face.

“Don’t worry. You’ll like this one better than the last, I promise you. The effects won’t last quite as long but will be ten times stronger.” Dr. Jonathon Crane, attending psychologist at Arkham Asylum. My psychologist.

“No! Get away from me!” I scream at the top of my lungs, thrashing as much as possible and hoping that someone, _anyone_ , will come by and help me.

“No no no no, stay still or I'll miss the vein.” A hand grabs my throat and grips it tight, stopping my thrashing and allowing Crane time to stick the needle into my arm and press down on the plunger, sending the fear toxin speeding through my body.

It’s a wild ride. All my worst fears come to life in front of my very eyes. Over the course of ten minutes, I watch as people I love die, kill themselves because they can’t stand to be around me, the enemy soldiers finally come to kill me, escaping this hell hole only to be dragged back by faceless, blacked out creatures. It seems like it takes forever for the toxin to flush out of my body, for me to come back to the living. But I don’t fully come back, no. A little piece of me gets lost after every round of this and I fear that one day nothing will be left of me when I come out of it. That all that I'll be is a machine, programmed to do exactly as he wants. 

* * *

Waking up is hard, my mind still trapped in that place, so much of me having been lost in there that it’s impossible to know if I’ll ever actually escape. If I’ll ever really be okay. The nightmares, the fear, the constant, persistent, untrusting thoughts in the back of my brain- what’s left of it anyways. If I can ever allow myself to let my guard down here, surrounded by people who trust me without expecting anything in return.

I can’t take it. The constant take and no give. They have to feel the same, they have to hate this- hate me- as much as I do.

I throw the covers off of me and stand up, running to my drawers and shoving clothes in a bag. What it is doesn’t matter right now, I need to leave. Before someone else gets hurt.

When it’s full, I throw on some riding gear and open the window. It’s only the second floor, but it’s still probably going to hurt like a bitch when I land.

And hurt it does. It feels like fire shooting through the balls of my feet and then my hands and shoulders when I roll. Wasting no time standing, I sprint to the front of the house, where my motorcycle's parked out front.

Sleek black with red accents, it fits me nicely. I climb on, start it, and speed off down the driveway, backpack secured on my back by a buckle on my chest.


	7. Help please

So. I have the next chapter halfway written. But there's one problem with it.

 

There's two endings. 

 

Now, both of these aren't very good. One scratches the surface of the main characters problems whereas the other one would automatically need practically ever trigger warning that exists. it's so bad and I started writing it, took a break in the middle of writing it, came back, and realized that I don't want to write it anymore. I feel physically sick writing it and it's not just the swollen wasp sting and allergic reaction making me feel that way. This chapter ending is quite possibly one of the worst I have ever written and I really don't want to have to finish writing it.

 

So what I'm going to do, is have you guys- the readers- vote in the comments which one you want to read the most, or, heaven forbid, you want to read them both. That way I know which one I need to finish. Please guys, help me out on this. I really have no idea which to post and would love your feedback on it. 

 

Thanks guys.

 

-Liz


	8. There's A Room Where The Light Won't Find You

I take out the guards easily, effortlessly. It almost feels like there’s something wrong it’s so easy. But I push past the dread in the back of my head and move through the building silently. Like a ghost in its haunt.

 

Memories flood through me as I look at all the empty cells I pass by. Memories of restless nights and waking nightmares. Memories of torture, of beatings and drugs pumped into me to sedate me long enough for them to do what they want with me.

 

It’s unpleasant, and I look over my shoulder at the window I busted out in order to get into here, tempted to turn around and leave, go back to the manor. But I don’t, instead turning to face down the hall once more and creep down it to the hidden room that everyone knew about but refused to enter. Except for a few. The room I spent the most time in.

 

It takes some time to find the brick but once I do, it’s like a ton of rocks was dropped onto my shoulders, the weight of everything coming back full force.

 

A slight glow comes from the bottom of the spiraling staircase attached to the walls of the tower. Despite the intensity of the light down there, it’s dark at the top of the stairs, the glowing barely reaching them. Hardly illuminating them. That’s how he liked it, after all. It stopped people from entering. Their own self produced fear got to them before his could.

 

I enter the tower, leaving the relative safety of the moon bathed hallway, it’s dirty and cracked tiles turning into dirty and cracked hundred-year old brick.

 

I don’t close the door behind me, the feeling of just being in here enough to set me completely on edge, to wipe away any confidence I had before. Wipe away any thoughts of being saved.

 

I walk down, and down, and down, until I’m at the very last step, foot raised up to take it into the room where He liked to experiment, to toy with me until I broke, and then broke some more.

 

I’m not sure I have the confidence to step foot into Jonathan Cranes lab. To step back into the hell I escaped. Or was rescued from. By Bruce.

 

After what feels like hours of standing there and staring at the room, I take the step and get off the stairs. Not quite sure of where to go, I walk to the complete opposite side of the room to the heavy wooden door that's almost hidden by how similar it looks to the walls.

 

Pushing it open feels impossible, and not because I’m not strong enough, but because of what it really symbolizes.

 

Nights spent down here, with nothing but the rats and the hallucinations brought on by Cranes Fear Toxin to keep my company. How I wouldn’t see sunlight for weeks at a time. The starvation and dehydration he subjected me to to test out new strains of Fear Toxin.

 

But I push through it, much like I do with the door, and what lies on the other side shocks me.

 

Tim, in his Red Robin costume- minus the cowl- strapped to the table with wires and tubes attached to him in the thousands. Maybe not that much but it’s still enough for the fear to grip my heart tight and squeeze.  _ He can’t be here. Why is he here? _

 

“Hello little one. Long time no see. I missed you.” The voice rings clearly in the room, invading my ears and I pale- I know that voice. “Your little friend decided he wanted to get mixed up with you. That he wanted to care about you. No one cares about you. And anyone that says they do is either lying, or just using you to get to me- the one that everyone is actually worried about. You’ve heard their conversations at night when they think that you aren’t listening. It’s all about me, all about how they can use you to bait me into a trap. But my, how the tables have turned.”

 

Tims head turns and looks at me, recognition dawning in his eyes.

 

“Gunner, wh-why are you here? Why di-did you come?” He whispers, tears flowing freely down his face.

 

“Yes, why are you here? I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. After all, you’re just in time to witness his death.” Scarecrow says, and I feel my heart stop entirely, trying to move towards Tim but being held back by invisible hands.

 

“Gunner, please, sa-save me. I don’t want to die,” he coughs trying to struggle against the leather straps holding him down. But he’s too weak. And I’m not good enough.

 

“This is what happens when you get close to someone. Let this serve as a reminder that you’re nothing. You’re not deserving of anything. And he’s going to pay the price for you believing otherwise. I’ve always wondered what a lethal dose of Fear Toxin looks like. Let’s find out.” He laughs that sick laugh, the laugh that’s haunted me years and years and years.

 

“No!” I scream as I watch the green liquid flow through the many tubes attached to Tim.

 

At first nothing happens. He stares a little wide eyed for a second. And then the screams start. Ripping themselves from his throat as he convulses on the table, muscles contracting and expanding. I sink to the ground, still unable to help or do anything other listen. Covering my ears does nothing, his screams still reach them.

 

It feels like forever before he finally stops and I look up to see his body, contorted and swollen in the constraints, looking away from me.

 

“No,” I whisper as the tears start to fall harder and faster until I’m full blown sobbing.

 

“Yes. This is what happens when you get close to anyone. They pay the price and you’re left suffering to watch, helpless and unable to help them. It’s no wonder no one ever wants to hang out with you anymore, or talk to you, or even just be in the same room as you. They know what’ll happen and now you do too.” Canvas shoes in front of me have me looking up and crawling back. Scarecrow, in all his glory stands over me, sneering through the mask he wears.

 

“Oh, don’t do that darling. We’re just getting started. We’re going to have a lot of fun. It’ll be just like old times. What do you say?” He grabs my wrist and hauls me up from the ground roughly, shoving my against the brick wall and tearing his mask off to reveal his face. “Trust me. You’ll love this.”

 

A rough canvas cloth is tied over my eyes with one hand while his other covers my face and mouth, keeping me from breathing. I panic, kicking at him but he just holds down harder and a tear slips out of my eye right before I black out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to kind of do a mix of both chapters I had in mind, cutting out the parts that made me the most uncomfortable. This is actually half of what I originally planned to post but felt like it was a good idea to end the chapter where I did. The next one is going to be coming next Monday and then I'll figure out a definite posting schedule with school and band. I hope you guys enjoyed it and thank you so much to people who commented on the last chapter. It was greatly appreciated.


	9. No More Nightmares, No More Fear

I wake with a gasp. Looking around, it takes a minute for me to get my bearings. To remember what I’m doing down here. And what happened to Tim. With renewed passion I shove open the door to the office and nearly growl. Jonathan Crane.

“Hello little one. Back for more?” He growls out, turning around and facing me with the spray bottle he holds in his hand, spraying it at me and laughing.

“Not this time.” I growl, unaffected by his Fear Toxin.

“What, that’s not possible!” He cries, backing away from me and towards the wall. “No one’s ever been unaffected by my gas!”

“Guess what Crane- I’m not afraid anymore. Now I’m just pissed off.” I say, feeling the truth of the words.

I lunge at him, tackling him to the ground and punch him, over and over again. Until his mask starts to turn red. And even then I don’t stop. I tear the mask off, seeing his bloody nose and feel the anger course through me more.

“You’re going to pay for what you did to Red Robin.” I growl, my punches stopping for a second to look at the black eye starting to form and the black and blue of his nose. It’s still not enough. It’ll never be enough for me. He needs to pay. And not just in the form of a black eye and a broken nose. No. He needs to pay with his life.

“It’s time for you to pay. For everyone to finally get the justice they deserve.” I say, slipping my hand into the pocket on the inside of my jacket and pulling out the knife, one of Jason’s specialty ones. I drag it down his face and to his neck, his tears mixing with the blood and snot streaming down his face. “I would say I’m sorry about this and that it won’t hurt but I think the words would choke me. Goodbye Crane.” I say and lift the knife above my head, about to bring it down into his neck when someone speaks from behind me.

“Gunner, that’s enough.” A voice growls with anger. I know that voice.

I look back to see Batman, and behind him Robin, Nightwing, and Red Robin.

“But-” I start to protest and, stopping when I see the expression on Tims face.

“Step away from him.” He growls.

I comply, moving off of Crane and towards the wall where I collapse onto the floor with my knees pulled up to my chest, dropping the knife next to me on the ground.

Voices swim in my ears, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I recognize them as the voices of my old rooming mates from the Air Force.

“Holy crap, she did a number on him.” Someone whispers.

“Four stab wounds and a bullet to the chest. It’ll be a miracle if he survives.” Another says.

“Who thought it was a good idea to let her out of the cage anyways. Nothing good ever comes when she’s around. Brings destruction everywhere she goes. That’s what she does.” A louder voice says, laughing at the thought.

“Gunner,” a soft voice is pulling me out of the trance I’d gone into staring at my bloody hands. “C’mon, let’s go. Let’s go home.” Tim takes my hands gently, lifting me up off the floor and guiding me out of the room.

I allow myself to be pulled out of the building and to the Batplane where he straps me into a seat.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and I look up at him.

“No,” I answer truthfully. I’m not okay. I probably never will be again.”

“Don’t worry. He won’t ever hurt you again.” He says, kneeling down in front of me to give me a tight hug.

“I know. It’s not me I’m worried about him hurting.” I’ve since accepted that it was a hallucination but that still doesn’t stop it from scaring me. Because it can still be real at some point.

“Don’t worry about us either. He won’t be able to get to us.” Tim pulls away and kisses my forehead. “Trust me.” He whispers.

I want to. I really do. But I can’t get Scarecrows words out of my head. What he said about them using me. Not wanting to get close to me. They’ve been trying to find him for months with little luck. Even Barbra hasn’t been having any luck. Were they really using me?

My thoughts are interrupted by sirens, loud and headache inducing. Gordon’s here now to collect Scarecrow and take him to Blackgate with Batman.

“Red Robin.” He says from the bottom of the ramp of the Batplane.

“Gordon.” Tim separates from me and moves to stand in front of me, shielding me from the rest of the cops.

“Who’s the girl?” He asks, taking his cigar out of his mouth.

“A friend. No one to be worried about.” Gordon grunts and walks towards Bruce and Scarecrow.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll start planning a vacation. Get you out of here for a while. What do you say?” When he turns around, I’m dozing off, too tired to answer. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow then,” he sighs and kisses my forehead one last time before stepping off the batplane and remotely closing the cargo door.


End file.
